


Every Day a Holiday

by rippergiles



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Holidays, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21588325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rippergiles/pseuds/rippergiles
Summary: Vignettes of holidays The Doctor and Rose shared together.
Relationships: Metacrisis Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler, Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler, Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler, The Doctor (Doctor Who)/Rose Tyler
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14
Collections: Pen15 is Mightier Holiday Gift Exchange 2019





	1. December 24, 1869

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Singing_Gazelle_56](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Singing_Gazelle_56/gifts).



> Written as part of The Pen15 is Mightier 2019 Holiday Gift Exchange.  
> Relevant episodes belong to Russell T. Davies and associated writers.  
> Thanks so much to @[chitaqua](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chitaqua) for betaing.
> 
> This is a fandom I had never read or written fic for before, so Whitney, I hope you like it!

  
He smiled down at her, taking in the way her dress rested on her shoulders and curved down her chest; how her hair, pulled back like this, exposed her pale neck. She returned the gesture, all teeth, but there was a new sadness in her eyes that The Doctor knew would be far from the last. She was starting to see that traveling with him involved just as many complications and heartbreak as wonders and joy. 

Rose had taken getting kidnapped and reanimated corpses and seances with Charles Dickens in stride, but she was full of fiery passion and righteousness against the thought of sacrificing Gweneth. He found himself almost glad that Gweneth had been dead before he had the chance to intervene. He couldn’t bear to betray Rose, even having only known her for a few days. She had been ready to die by his side back there, surrounded by the Gelth, smiling at the opportunity of meeting each other as their fingers intertwined.  They watched Charles Dickens as he watched the TARDIS disappear, full of life and laughter one last time.

“Well, that’s that,” the Doctor said. “How about some tea?”

“What’ve you got?”

“I can whip up some sandwiches that’ve been described as ‘not bad’.”

Her face cracked into a smile, one that reached her eyes this time. Her tongue poked out, tracing along her upper teeth. “Let’s have it, then.”

He could feel her eyes on him as he busied himself in what one could reasonably call the TARDIS’ kitchen, insofar as it had a hot plate and an icebox. When he brought a tray of sandwiches and a hot kettle to the small folding table, she pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear and picked up a triangle, biting into it without inspection. Brave girl.

“So this is Christmas dinner?” she asked around her bite as he poured tea into her mug, fixing it up with sugar without needing to ask.

“Yup. That alright?”

Rose shrugged. “As long as you’re paying.”


	2. October 31, 2005

“Happy Halloween, Rose,” The Doctor said, pulling on a sweater as Rose emerged from her bedroom, shuffling along in unlaced trainers.

“Mornin’,” she yawned. “What are we up to today?”

“Whatever you want,” he said. “Plenty of spooky options for a day such as this.”

Rose considered for a moment, biting her lip. “I want to see the Salem Witch Trials.”  
  
“1692?” Distaste crossed his face. “Bunch of Puritan nutters with no air conditioning?”

“I dunno, you just always hear about the hysteria and things in school. All at once, not spread out like we had in Europe. Thought it’d be cool to see firsthand.”  
  
The Doctor shrugged. “If it’s Salem the lady wants, Salem she shall get.” He started to fiddle with the TARDIS console, then turned back, facing her with a stern glare. “You know if we go, we can’t change anything. You’ll have to stand by, knowing how many innocent people will die.”

She let out a disbelieving sigh. “You sure know how to ruin a date.”

“I’m serious, Rose.”

“Did you have a better idea, then?”  
  
He flashed a triumphant grin, grabbing a moving bit of the console and spinning it in the opposite direction. “Now, modern Salem is a different story. Biggest day of the year, Halloween!”

The TARDIS began to wheeze and gave a mighty lurch, sending Rose face-first into the console. When she righted herself, brushing hair out of her face, the ship had settled. She rushed to the door and peered outside. They were in a narrow alley, paved with cobblestones. People wandered by the gap between two brick buildings and cast shadows into the alley in the midmorning light.

Rose stepped out, the Doctor close behind her. They made their way out of the alley and toward the noise of the crowded street. Dozens of people stood on every corner, wearing kitschy t-shirts and taking photographs of nearby buildings and each other. Booths were set up along the sidewalks, selling food and drinks and yet more cheap souvenirs for the masses. People in costumes stood in the street, leering at passersby and hustling for tips.  
  
Rose looked at the Doctor. “It’s a...party?”  
  
“They’ve embraced their gruesome history,” he told her. “Profited from it, you might say.”

She took a few steps toward the nearest booth, picking up a pointed purple hat and trying it on. “How do I look?”

He smirked at her. “Bewitching.”

She put it back and continued walking, still confounded by the hordes of people and unable to consider much of the historical significance of the town around them. Eventually they came upon a small graveyard with a memorial plaque affixed outside the gate, where a few visitors were already stopped.  
  
“ Fourteen women and five men from all stations of life went to the gallows,” the Doctor read aloud, then turned to Rose. “Not to mention old Giles Corey. Borrowed a few quid off him, never got to pay him back. And you think  _ I’m _ stubborn?”

Rose gave him a grimace. The man in front of them, still looking at the plaque, began to speak to no one in particular.

“To think, none of this would have happened if it hadn’t been for hysterical women.”

“Yeah,” Rose scoffed, “but who were the judges sentencing innocent people to death, eh?”

The Doctor gripped her hand. “Too right, you are.” He began to pull her along. “And always making friends.”

She rolled her eyes but went with him, her gaze and heart landing on a stand selling hot cider.   
  



	3. December 25, 1989

The Doctor used his sonic to gain access to the front door, its border illuminated by fairy lights. He opened the door quietly and propped it, stepping back out to roll in a candy red bicycle with a bow across the handlebars. The back wheel caught on the ledge for a moment, just long enough to pull his attention back to it for a moment. When the wheel had cleared the doorway, he turned back around to find his way newly blocked. Multicolored glow from the lit-up Christmas tree fell upon a small frame, messy blonde pigtails resting on her nightgown as she looked up at him. She didn’t seem afraid, merely curious, staring at the stranger in her home with big, brown, sleep-ridden eyes.

His close-cropped hair and leather jacket hardly made him the picture of Father Christmas. The Doctor raised a finger to his lips, though it was barely necessary. Her eyes fell on the bicycle and immediately turned her expression from curiosity to glee, a toothy grin on full display that lacked even a shred of self-consciousness. He beamed back and resumed rolling the bicycle, parking it behind the tree before turning back to the girl.

“In the morning, you’ll pretend this is from your mum, right?”

She nodded earnestly.

“Good. Then go back to bed. Good night, Rose.”

Her eyebrows drew together at the mention of her name, but she obeyed, retreating back up the stairs as the Doctor pulled the front door closed behind him. He walked back to the TARDIS on the corner and stepped inside, careful not to let his footfalls land too heavy and wake her adult counterpart as well.

It was dangerous, bringing them into such close proximity after the incident with Rose and her infant self, but she’d been fast asleep in the TARDIS when he’d snuck out. Besides, if she’d woken up and found the TARDIS parked outside her childhood home, he thought she had the sense not to get too close again. He knew young Rose wouldn’t remember this into adulthood, wouldn’t consciously recognise him as the man who brought her a shiny new present on wheels years before. He’d mentioned the bicycle and her jaw had dropped, probably thinking he’d been hiding away some telepathic powers or something all this time.

“Nope,” he whispered to himself. “Just a little extra cheer.”


	4. December 25, 2005

Rose stared down at him, this stranger in their home. His new body was thin and angular, his hair longer, a new smattering of freckles across his face.

What had happened? One minute she was kissing him, her Doctor. The next thing she knew she was waking up, and he was saying goodbye, and then he was gone, replaced by someone else. And now here that person was, unconscious and useless while the rest of them dealt with killer musical Father Christmases and spinning trees of death.

She thought she knew him. But now she wondered if she’d known anything at all.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
The Doctor had heard everything. Heard her cry for him, mourning his old self while he laid there, unable to move. He hadn’t even gotten a good look at himself yet and there were already complaints.

He should have explained to her before, told her what was going to happen. Maybe she wouldn’t be so lost and afraid now if he had. But he thought the two of them would have so much more time together before needing to face a regeneration. Leave it to Rose to do the unthinkable, open herself up to the vortex. Brave, stubborn, beautiful Rose, her eyes glowing with the light of stars inside them, still not enough to hide the mascara-stained tears falling onto her cheeks.

He sat up, the TARDIS coming to life around him as he heard voices outside the door.    
  
  


* * *

  
  
An alien duel, a regrown hand, the Prime Minister on her doorstep, Christmas crackers. Pretty typical day with the Doctor. She supposed that as much as anything proved that he was the same man. You didn’t get this sort of life with just anyone.

“I guess you’re the type to come round to Mum’s for Christmas now?” she teased under her breath, grinning at the Doctor’s paper crown. “The old you would’ve never tolerated it.”

“Oh, give me a bit of credit,” he said. “I love Christmas.”

“Since when?”

“Since always! No holiday has been remade and adapted so many times. Even I have trouble keeping track.”

Rose frowned. “How d’you mean?”

“The Romans had Saturnalia, the Scandinavians had Yule...plus half a dozen others, all leading to Father Christmas’ sleigh, pine trees, and Mickey being stuffed liked Jackie’s turkey.”

“Oi,” Mickey said, though his heart wasn’t really in it. Rose thought he really might pass out, right into the mashed potatoes.

The Doctor was on a roll. “Christmas is like living history, but with better desserts.”  
  
“Can’t you have both?” Rose asked, insecurity rising to the surface that their _we_ might go back to just _he_ now. “Traveling through time, but, you know, the comforts of home now and again?”  
  
The Doctor looked at her, and she saw the same conflict reflected there. She regretted her words, feeling thoughtless as she remembered that he wasn’t like her. He didn’t have a home to go back to. Had she gone too far, trying to save the old him? Did this new Doctor not want her anymore?

* * *

  
  


“What about you?” she asked tentatively once they were outside, snowlight ash falling around them. “What are you going to do next?

“Back to the TARDIS. Same old life.”

She thought she could see his face fall just a little when he said that. He throat fought against her next words, thick with emotion she was trying not to show. “On your own?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Why, don’t you want to come?”  
  
When he looked at her, she could see him again. The Doctor. Her Doctor.

Her mum and Mickey were talking to them, but she barely took in the words before responding. Only when the Doctor spoke did she snap back into the moment. 

He smiled. “And it’s going to be fantastic.”

Though his accent was different, the way he said it tugged at something familiar. The way his mouth formed the sound was more tender now, full of affection as his eyes stayed trained on her.

She couldn’t help but beam at him. “That hand of yours still gives me the creeps.”

She laced their fingers together anyway. She knew now it was the same hand that had taken hers, all that time ago. The hand she’d felt before she’d ever seen his face; ever been told to run.


	5. February 14, 268

She didn’t care for roses, never really had since her name had led to being surrounded by them as a child. So she hadn’t exactly been hoping for a trail of petals leading to her bed or anything. But _something_ would have been nice. Rose was already unsure of what their relationship was— there was something there, something more than friendship, but it didn’t have a name. Not yet. Proximity and adventure led to flirtation, and danger led to the regular realisation of what he meant to her— and by association, the regular fear of losing him. But nothing _happened_ , not really, and it made Rose wonder where she stood.

She sat on the bars near the TARDIS console, trying not to sulk while the Doctor tinkered with the buttons and levers. She stared at those hands that steered the TARDIS, stroked it just so to bend to his will, hands that Rose sometimes imagined on her body instead.

“So,” she began, trying not to sound impatient. “Any special plans for today?”

He looked up at her, eyes crinkling behind his glasses. “Oh yes. Just as soon as…”

The TARDIS lurched, and the Doctor gave a triumphant laugh. Rose fell off the bars, deciding it was safer to stay on the floor as their surroundings shook. When the console quieted and the TARDIS stilled, she hoisted herself back up and ran toward the door.

“You may want to change,” the Doctor called after her. 

She looked down at her jeans and t-shirt. “I’ve gotten away with things like these before.”

He nodded. “Yes, but today is special. We’re going to a wedding.”  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  


They stood together, The Doctor in his favorite pinstriped suit and Rose in a long linen tunic, with a golden wrap around her arms and fastened with a decorative brooch on her chest. Across the candle-lit windowless room were a man and a woman at a rudimentary altar, behind which was another man. His dark, curly hair and beard had grey running through it, and he was draped in a gold and crimson vestment as he read to them from a book open in front of him.

“Doctor, who are they?” Rose whispered.

“The couple? No idea.”

“The man marrying them, then.”

The Doctor had a twinkle in his eye. “An old friend. Valentinus of Rome.” When Rose’s eyebrows drew together in question, he continued, “You may know him better as Saint Valentine.”

Her mouth fell open as she looked back at the altar. “You mean…?”

The Doctor nodded. 

“Why are we in this dark basement, then? Isn’t he, I dunno, a pretty big deal?”

The Doctor’s face fell. “I’m guessing you never went to Catholic school.” Rose shook her head, and the Doctor continued. “They generally make people Saints for doing something that was rather unpopular, often illegal at the time. All in the name of spreading the faith.”

The couple cast wary glances toward the two of them. The groom spoke in a low voice Rose couldn’t decipher.

“Not to worry,” Valentinus told the couple. “This man and his wife aren’t affiliated with the Emperor. They’re here as my guests, and as witnesses to your marriage before God.”

Rose spoke up. “Oh, I’m not his—”

“Shh,” said The Doctor. “You’d have to be my wife or my slave, and I thought you’d prefer the former.”

Colour filled her cheeks as she looked at the floor. “What’s he doing that’s illegal, then?”

The Doctor lowered his voice, speaking closely to Rose’s ear. “We’re still in the height of the Roman empire, the less than holy one. Early Christians are still being persecuted because their loyalty is to God rather than the state.”

“So what, those two are Christians?”

The Doctor nodded. “They can’t acknowledge their religion in public, let alone get married within it.”

“And Saint Valentine?”

“He’ll be martyred for doing things like this. This day next year.”

She looked at The Doctor in horror. “Couldn’t you do something?”

Regret filled his face, and Rose was sorry to have put it there. “You know I can’t.”

She looked again at the couple, whose hands were joined in front of Valentinus as he finished their ceremony and held a goblet of communion wine to each of their lips in turn. Rose knew what it was like to love someone and be unable to say so, but that was her own conflicted mind’s fault, not the threat of death by the government. She dropped her hand and slipped it into the Doctor’s, threading their fingers together. 

His face changed again, lighting up as he looked at her, then back at the altar. “I love a wedding!”

She snuggled close to him, her other arm snaking under his jacket and sharing his warmth as she laid her head on his chest. His hearts beat just slightly out of sync, an echo in her ears that reminded her how different the two of them were. How the little things that nagged at Rose probably never registered to someone like The Doctor, who had lived so long and seen so much. Her disappointment this morning felt like a lifetime ago. They had each other. That was enough.


	6. April 27, 2006

“I have a special evening planned, Rose.”

“Yeah?” she asked. “What for?”

The Doctor furrowed his brow. “For your birthday.”

Rose blinked. “How’d you know it was my birthday? I didn’t even realise. We’ve been back and forth so much, I hadn’t exactly kept a calendar…”

“Lucky you’ve got me then,” the Doctor preened.

“Oh, blimey,” she said, smacking her forehead. “Last time we were home I told Shareen we’d meet up for drinks on my birthday.”

“Rose,” the Doctor said as he tapped a finger on the TARDIS console. “Time machine.”

She gave him a playful shove. “Alright, can you drop me off later then?”

He rolled his eyes. “I offer all of time and space and you just want to go to the pub.”

“Unless you want to pick up Shareen and take us both to a pub on Mars or something, yeah.”

“Don’t be silly, there are no pubs on Mars,” he said as he kicked a lever and the TARDIS came to noisy life. “Callisto, on the other hand, now _there’s_ a party.”

Rose wrapped her arm in his, holding on tight as the room rattled. When it settled, she looked toward the door, then back to the Doctor, finding an anticipatory gleam in his eyes. She walked to the door and slowly peered out.

They were surrounded by giant ferns, dense plants the likes of which she’d never seen blocking out most of the light from the canopy. She could hear the sounds of something massive moving through the jungle, too close for comfort.

“Where are we, Doctor?”

“Late Cretaceous period, in what will eventually become South America.” He pushed open the door and ushered them out. “Come on, we don’t have much time to catch it.”

“Catch _what_?”

Rose tripped over a root as she rushed to stay close behind him as he pushed leaves and limbs out of the way. She marvelled at how he seemed to somehow know exactly where he was going in this wild place. It was uncivilised, alive in a way the modern world simply was not. She’d never get used to this, never. Even The Doctor still greeted every new adventure with glee, and he’d been doing this for centuries.

He stopped short, causing Rose to nearly run into him. “Here we are.”

The Doctor pulled her around a tree, and she had to squint against the sudden bombardment of light. Once her eyes adjusted, she saw it, and gasped. They were on a cliff’s edge, looking over more of the jungle a hundred metres below. They faced a gorgeous sunset, gold and crimson and deep purple all blending together like watercolors as the sun sank below the treeline.

“Doctor, it’s beautiful,” she breathed. “Thank you.”

He put a hand around her waist, sliding closer to her carefully so as to not get too close to the edge. “My favorite view for my favorite holiday.”

Rose scoffed. “Hardly a holiday.”

“Sure it is,” the Doctor countered. “Every day’s a holiday with you.”


	7. January 1, 2005

He stood in the shadows, gripping his sides in pain, as if by trying hard enough he could hold in the regeneration energy that was threatening to burst out at any moment, taking away all that he knew and all that he was again.  
  
The TARDIS behind him was cold, still alive but abandoned by the crowd it had held such a short time ago. His family. The Doctor had dropped them off, one by one, knowing he would never see them again like this. This is what he did, but it never hurt any less. If anything, it was starting to hurt more and more. Especially leaving _her_ again.

He’d come here for a reason, on the small chance she’d be here, shortly after midnight, heading home from the countdown parties. The Doctor’s tiny sliver of hope swelled to the size of the half-moon in the sky as he heard familiar voices carrying up the street.

“Happy New Year!” the younger voice said. “Don’t stay out all night!”

“Try and stop me!” her mother laughed.

He watched them walk in opposite directions as Rose pulled her scarf around herself, huddling against the cold. She started toward her building, and would have made it if a bright stab of pain hadn’t escaped him in the form of a grunt.

She looked at him, miraculously unafraid of this strange man lurking on her street in the middle of the night. For a moment he abandoned all logic and wondered if she might know who he was.

“You all right, mate?”

There it was. She didn’t know him, and it broke his hearts.

“Yeah,” he said, teeth gritted against the ache inside him.

She smiled, and it was a balm. “Too much to drink?”

He nodded. “Something like that.”

“Maybe it’s time you went home.”

He managed another weak “Yeah.”

“Anyway, happy new year!”

“And you. What year is this?”

He knew, of course he knew, but her laugh in response made the whole trip worthwhile, here at the end of his life. 

“Blimey, how much have you had?” she asked, shaking her head. “2005. January the first.”

“2005,” he said, mentally reviewing their countless moments together, still far too few. “Tell you what. I bet you’re going to have a really great year.”

“Yeah?” She smiled again, warm and chipper and kind and everything he’d come to love. The first and last face he saw, two regenerations running. “See you.”

With that, she took off. He watched her as she climbed the stairs to her apartment, ready to retreat into warmth for the night.

She’d shaped who he’d become. As he stumbled back into the TARDIS, energy radiating from him in constant waves now, he wondered, with a twinge of fear, what was coming.   



	8. December 25, 2010

She shifted on top of him, little noises escaping her mouth as she stirred. They still travelled straight to his core, plucking at his heartstrings, among other things, a reminder of his luck. He pushed a mess of hair out of her face, smoothing it with his fingers as she nuzzled further under the covers in an attempt to stay asleep. The pout he caught a glimpse of could move mountains.  
  
He knew there was little splendor in their lives now, no threat of dying in every new day, only one heartbeat under her ear when she rested on his chest like this. She’d said she could never go back to this, this domestic bore. She worked for Torchwood now, but he knew it wasn’t the same.

She stretched, then blinked, eventually finding his gaze. The lights in her eyes when she looked at him were no longer stars that existed in the far-flung reaches of the universe, surrounded by planets and populations. Those twinkles in the pools of chocolate were for him alone. He no longer needed to hold her at a distance, to mitigate the heartbreak he knew would one day come. That curse of the time lords, and those unlucky enough to love them, didn’t apply to two mortals leading pithy human lives. He loved her, as close and as loudly and as often as he liked.

Those three words he’d never quite said in his earlier form had now been said thousands of times. As he looked at her, her naked shoulders poking out from under the covers, he wondered how his other self had ever refrained from shouting it from every surface in the universe. He remembered the first time she’d been on that beach, and he’d been merely a projection, unable to reach out and touch her the way he desperately wanted to. He’d been ready to make a confession then, meant for her ears alone, but it never reached them, and left him standing alone, a tear-soaked face paired with a punch in the gut. It was a twist of happy fate, this second self, because he might not have been able to bear leaving her alone again. He could hardly bear the thought of leaving this bed.

“Merry Christmas, Rose.”

She lifted herself up to meet his lips, a soft but insistent kiss that demanded more. “Merry Christmas.”

She’d promised him forever, and seen it through. They were together, and nothing would change that again.    
  



End file.
